Plus my shrinks in Florida

Ran into one of the Baitshop Boys tonight. The ornithologist, plays the ornith. Cool hipster, haven't seen him much lately and never sober before. (Bad english! I mean I haven't seen him while I'm sober.)

What's the nitty gritty. You're looking kinda thin,'gate, he said.

It's true. Rocky couple of weeks. Stood on the industrial scale at work today and I've lost seven pounds. He's not the first to mention it either, it shows in my face.

I was just out from a meeting, and had to shake myself out of that 'share' mode, not to pester the cat with my heck, you know. Think I looked a bit grummy too. Said ah, got some sort of consumption, working eight days in a row,



what's shakin'.

They'd been playing downtown. I didn't know Zigzag was in town, that could account for one lost meal, farkers been hiding from me or something.

Said what, the twilight festival? He said no, that's in June. We ankled it up the parking garage steps, we'd both lost our cars. He doesn't drink though, I don't think. Spotted mine, now you're on the trolley. Good to see ya Jake. So long!

Still almost dry-drunk today, feeling blue anyway, and nothing could help much. I'm not eating, some hostility toward myself and people who are nice to me. I mean, ME. You know?

It could be so much worse. On the way home I spotted Rhonda, an old housemate from The Eclipse, walking alone toward her Oxford House. Man, we've been worried about her.

She moved in there and her room-mate O.D.ed dead.

Then the family came into the house while no one was there, to get this poor woman's things, and took a bunch of Rhonda's clothes. I mean, to boot. Too much.

But she is still very upset, this roomie of hers was the only friend she's made at the house since she moved in a month ago.

The other women sound awful. Like, they're imposing fines over dirty coffee cups. And they don't go to meetings, it seems, but bicker a lot at their own house meetings. An Oxford House could be perfectly hellish in some cases, and this one is known to be a "bad house". They vote people in, who relapse and skip on the rent. Then they come to the Oxford Chapter and have to beg a loan. Once a house has gone bad, it seems to stay bad.

And it's funny how you know, like in a family, maybe 'generations' ago, it may have started with one person having an insanely bad day or something, and taking it out...

We parked across from her place and talked for half an hour. After the sobbing (near sobbing) stories, some ligher chat, and she gave me good news about some people we know. The same news I'd hear an hour later when I got back here. Neat circle we have in Recovery.

F'ng glad I saw her and could talk to her. Who wouldn't be in despair after all that, plus living with people who apparently don't like you, or openly dislike you. Addicts, at that.

Home. It's peaceful all in all, even with our dry drunk still struggling.

Did my weekly cleaning for the kitchenette, just to protect my tiny base of serenity. Used a lot of bleach in that mop bucket, with a little soap. I don't know what I'm doing, just cleaning, you know, and hoping everything will smell clean too.

Found a bottle of amonia under the sink. Never sure what that was. Parents might have told me once, when I was four or five.

I wondered: lemony scent perhaps? And put the bottle to my honker and breathed in and --I think--almost died. I was so surprised I had the urge to bellow, but of course it was like the breath had been knocked out of me. I don't know anything. I tell ya.

Almost dropped the bottle but instead held on to it as I staggered backwards. Then set it on the table and continued staggering backwards into a chair, and took a break.

Not a cigarette break.

Later, Chauncey stepped in to report that I'd recieved a compliment from one of the Eclipse staff. The Chief out there, now, who used to be the counselor. Isaiah.

Isaiah says that of all the people who were there during my four to five months, only three of us have 'survived'. HER (I never mention, who's comb I stole), myself and this one crazy psycho bitch named Heather. (So instead of exclaiming surprise about Isaiah's mentioning me, I exclaimed "Heather??!!")

What's funny is that I'm still banned from the grounds there. Can't visit at all. And one of the staff ends me word that I should call and chat sometime but I never do. I forget.

Anyway, I tell you: ...I'm not so sure about long-term treatment, or treatment at all. Some sort of commitment or incarceration is needed, just to bottom out and get sober and to A.A., but these places have dismal records. I think they're history.

In my resentment, I still think I have a case to close that kip down if I'd like. Said that to Rhonda and she said NOOOO, though. So, she may be another winner. I hope.

Anyway one of the three success stories Isaiah has includes a guy whom he won't allow on the premises. Pretty rich, man.